


Proxy

by aliatori



Series: If Truth Is What You Ask For [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Gladnis in an IgNyx package, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 11:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13387269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: Ignis's body has decided that the biological imperative must be satisfied with flesh and blood.





	Proxy

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [@Xylianna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna)!

After years of air-tight control, Ignis can no longer ignore his baser impulses. He’s kept his needs from interfering with his life so far through creative applications of fingers and silicone, and videos of tall, dark, and muscular men. These men are not the one he wants, they don’t even hold a guttering candle to the supernova that is Ignis’s desire for his best (only) friend, but he makes do.

Ignis is brilliant, after all, and possessed of a far more vivid imagination than most people give him credit for.

His body has decided, however, that the biological imperative must be satisfied with flesh and blood instead of exquisite dildos and lubed fingers. Each time he comes, biting down on a gloved hand as he jerks off in his car when he can’t rein in it after a sparring session, or muffling his moans in a pillow at home because he can’t stand how needy he sounds, it takes less and less of the edge off. Ignis doesn’t think it can rightly be called an edge, singular, anymore—his lust is a concentric circle of sharp hormones, starting in his brain and ending in his cock.

Ignis considers that the craving might be for human touch, period. He experiments, relaxing the rigid control that he maintains over his personal space. Aside from some enthusiastic hugs after dinner from Prompto (positive—mostly, as Ignis worries if he even eats at home with the way he devours Ignis’s cooking) and some literal dragging of Noct out of the training room to his next appointment (mixed—it relieves a different type of frustration to manhandle his charge a bit, as much as it chagrins Ignis to admit it), he sees no improvement.

Ignis allows the Prince’s Shield to pull him into a sloppy side hug exactly once; he’s sweaty and he’s been drinking and the pungent smell of alcohol and cologne billows from him, but he’s _warm_ and _firm_ and it’s enough to unravel the bindings Ignis has cinched around his desire. Ignis can barely wait until the door to his apartment closes behind him before he’s palming himself through his slacks; Ignis swears he can still smell _Gladio_ on his shirt, strips himself of it, and holds the starched fabric over his nose and mouth as he brings himself to quick and brutal orgasm.

Once isn’t enough—Ignis keeps the shirt with him, brings it to bed that night, and waits for the moment when his thoughts inevitably turn to half-finished tattoos over rippling muscles. Ignis comes so hard, hot semen spilling all over his hand and stomach and sheets, that he doesn’t realize the shirt is stuffed in his mouth until the haze of lust fades. 

It’s after this incident that Ignis, applying the same methodical precision to his personal problems that he does to the Lucian kingdom’s, begins to plan.

He discards several options up front. Ignis has no wish to be seen in bars, gay or otherwise, because he has little interest in drinking and no interest in the effort it would take to ensure the quality of anyone he meets there. Similarly, he rules out the phone apps that exist for the purpose of casual sex, not wanting to jeopardize his privacy for the privilege of a dick attached to a person.

Through no initiative on Ignis’s part, a solution presents itself.

He starts training with a Glaive, Nyx Ulric, wanting to practice with someone who doesn’t throw a match on every last gasoline-soaked nerve in his body. Nyx has a cocky smile that, if Ignis doesn’t look too hard at it, reminds him of a different, arrogant grin that features prominently in his late night thoughts. He’s good, too—at first, Ignis has trouble keeping up, not used to sparring against an opponent with the capability of warping.

Ignis, never one to back down from a challenge (unless it involves asking his childhood friend to fuck him senseless, apparently), gets better. Nyx laughs when Ignis disarms him and places the gleaming blade of his dagger to Nyx’s throat. Ignis’s eyebrows have just enough time to dip in confusion before Nyx phases, and suddenly it’s Ignis with his arms wrenched behind his back and face pressed against the wall.

“Almost, Scientia,” Nyx says, low and hot against Ignis’s ear. Ignis is surprised and mortified to feel himself growing hard in the time it takes Nyx to release him from the hold. Ignis thanks Nyx, grateful for the poker face that hours upon hours of frustrating diplomacy has bestowed upon him, and takes his leave. He makes sure to keep his back to Nyx as he departs, willing his sudden and painful erection to _go away_.

The mortification turns into relief when for once, Ignis thinks of someone else when he coaxes himself to orgasm in the midnight hours. And then he begins to plan in earnest.

In the most ill-considered use of his high-level security clearance to date, Ignis researches Nyx Ulric. Thoroughly. He finds no black marks that would preclude Ignis from proceeding with his plan, Nyx’s medical and legal records clear of anything that would concern Ignis. Ignis’s thoughts mull on what King Regis, or any of Ignis’s assistants, or Astrals forbid _Gladio_ would do if they knew about this, and he laughs.

He’s not sure if the laugh makes him feel better or worse about the whole thing. It’s a fragile sound, far more fragile than the ropey, viscous threads of lust pulsing through his veins. He doesn’t dwell on it for long.

The next time he and Nyx spar, they’re alone, and Ignis begins to wonder if he can go through with this at all. Now that Ignis considers sleeping with Nyx an option in earnest, his eye becomes more critical. He’s fairly certain after the wall incident that Nyx wouldn’t be opposed to such a liason, and Ignis also feels he wouldn’t be the type to take it more seriously than what it is. Ignis wants to fuck and be fucked, to sweat and thrust and come until his libido stops tangling up in knots around a certain Shield, not a relationship.

Physically, Nyx fits the bill. Ignis has seen him shirtless enough to know he’s muscular in all the right places. He’s been subjected to enough powerful kicks and witnessed enough flying leaps to assume the lower half matches the upper. The dark spill of hair down his shoulders appeals to Ignis more than he’d like to admit. Nyx’s aesthetic falls into dangerous territory; he has a predatory, fierce way about him that Ignis would love to yield to under different circumstances, an easy confidence that Ignis’s mind and cock enjoy in equal parts.

They’ve started to add magic to these sparring sessions—Nyx insisted once he learned of Ignis’s proclivity for the king’s magic. Nyx flaunts his prowess, goading Ignis with twin flames between his fingers. Nyx has realized, somewhere along the way, that telling Ignis he can’t do something is the fastest way to get him to do it, and Ignis hates that they’ve spent enough time together for him to know even that.

No, he doesn’t hate it. He hates that he _wants_ to hate it, when in reality he’s not sure who is pursuing who at this stage.

Nyx stands behind Ignis, his front pressed tight against Ignis’s back, gripping Ignis’s forearm as he demonstrates a particularly vicious twist of his flame-coated dagger. Ignis knows full well that the demonstration could be performed without the full body contact, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t _care_. Soon they’re both leaping at each other with fiery daggers, Ignis’s concern for the Citadel’s repair budget and his own safety both consumed in fire and adrenaline.

Ignis hopes Nyx will make the first move. He invites it, even, asking Nyx to help him stretch before sinking down into the splits with no effort at all, contorting his body in ways that ooze intimacy. Nyx notices—Ignis can feel his gaze raking across his skin like fingernails—and though his calloused palms are firm on Ignis’s lower back, skirt perilously close to the curve of Ignis’s ass, they press no further than requested.

Ignis takes matters into his own hands after that.

“Hey, Ignis,” Nyx calls as Ignis enters the room. He’s forgone the last name entirely, and the simple sound of Ignis’s name on his lips begins to heat his blood. Ignis wears athletic clothing but has zero intention of beginning a match. Nyx is perceptive—one has to be to master warping, where a single misjudged target could spell disaster—and his demeanor shifts immediately.

“Nyx,” Ignis says simply. Nyx gives him a searching look.

“Looking to spar?” The fact that it’s a question eases the fear that oscillates in time with Ignis’s desire.

“I had rather something else in mind,” Ignis says, giving Nyx such a thorough once over that there’s no way it could be construed for anything but what it is—an offering.

Nyx’s grin is charmingly lopsided. It offsets the desire that pushes his pupils outwards, a miniature abyss that consumes the pale blue of his irises.

“Was wondering when you’d ask.”

They are fire on fire when they collide, tension snapping like wood in the heat of a flame. Ignis’s lips are already parted by the time Nyx’s mouth reaches his. His mouth is much hotter than Ignis expected, but it’s a pleasant heat, curling up his thighs and through his groin. Ignis’s hands are already in Nyx’s hair—he knew it wouldn’t take long, he’s been dying to do this since this plan was in its infancy—and the way Nyx laughs into the kiss only makes Ignis pull harder.

Ignis knows vaguely where he wants to go, leads Nyx backwards towards a supply closet without ever breaking their kiss. Nyx’s hands are all over, roaming across the places Ignis has been longing to be touched, and he’s glad the kiss muffles his groan of approval. When Ignis’s back bumps into the door, he finally breaks away. He fishes in one of his jacket pockets for the supply closet keys, another privilege he’s abusing in order to be used.

Ignis takes pride in the fact that his fingers don’t so much as flutter when he unlocks the door. He closes the door, relocks it, thumbs the lights on, then turns back to Nyx.

“What do you want?” Nyx asks, sliding his hands under Ignis’s fitted shirt in a way that sends goosebumps all over his skin. Ignis knows the answer to this question—he’s methodically drilled the order of operations for multiple scenarios in his head. But he needs more information first.

“That depends,” Ignis says, breathing out a sigh as Nyx’s thumb brushes against one of his nipples, “On if you’re willing to let this happen more than once.”

Nyx laughs quietly. “As long as we can somehow both avoid losing our jobs? Uh, hell yes I am. Do you have any idea how fucking hot you are?”

Ignis does and doesn’t. Objectively he knows he takes great pride in his appearance, but no one’s said it quite so frankly to his face. The words create a delicious tug in his groin and set his cock twitching against the thin fabric of his compression pants.

“In that case,” Ignis starts, and it takes a gargantuan effort for him to lift a hand and place it in the middle of Nyx’s chest. He pushes until Nyx’s thighs hit the table behind them. “Take off your pants.”

Nyx gives a low whistle, but his hands are already undoing the button at the top of his pants. Ignis swears he can feel the hiss of the zipper against his skin.

“Yes, sir,” Nyx says, raising his hips to shimmy out of his black uniform pants. Ignis can’t tear his eyes away from the bulge straining against his briefs. The sight sends an ache through his own cock, an ache so familiar that he has to stop himself from reaching down and beginning to stroke himself.

He might do that, eventually. Just not yet.

It takes all of Ignis’s control to appear calm as he reaches for Nyx. Nyx, perhaps sensing his hesitancy or maybe just eager to have Ignis’s hands on him, guides Ignis’s hand to his clothed cock.

“You sure about this?” Nyx asks. While Ignis appreciates his concern, his hormones have already begun to spiral out of control. There’s no stopping. He is careening towards Nyx faster than a warp strike and just as hard.

“Yes,” Ignis says, and this time his voice sounds as confident as he’d like it to. His long fingers pry the waistband of Nyx’s briefs down, and he can’t help the hiss of indrawn breath as Nyx’s cock is exposed. Ignis takes his pointer finger and swipes the bead of precome from the reddened tip of it. He brings it to his lips and runs his tongue across the pad of his finger, tasting it. Salt, mostly, and less bitter than his own. Not as avid of a coffee drinker as Ignis, then.

“Merciful _Bahamut_ ,” Nyx growls, and Ignis can see Nyx’s cock twitch. Another bead of precome replaces the one Ignis tasted.

It ignites something primal in Ignis, and before he knows it he’s on his knees and Nyx has taken his glasses off and Ignis has his lips wrapped around Nyx’s cock. Ignis has practiced on a toy set aside for the purpose, researched different methods extensively, and he applies that knowledge with the same ruthless drive as he applies his knowledge to any task.

Lust makes Ignis greedy and impatient in the best of ways. He swallows around Nyx, traces patterns with his tongue around the smooth skin of Nyx’s cock. Nyx vocalizes his appreciation by letting out choked moans and bucking his hips. When Ignis removes his mouth from Nyx with a wet _pop_ to catch his breath—managing to control his breathing through his nose is an area for improvement, he notes—the groan Nyx makes at the sound prompts Ignis to do it a few more times so that he makes the noise again.

When Ignis adds a hand, Nyx gets so loud that Ignis prays that no one else is using the training room. Ignis has long since soaked through his underwear, his own cock neglected, but his focus on the experience at hand more than makes up for it. He feels Nyx swell in his mouth, impossibly hard, and the fingers Nyx has in Ignis’s hair tighten.

“Gettin’ real close,” he drawls, head tipped back. Ignis doesn’t stop—he goes faster.

When Nyx comes in Ignis’s mouth, he swallows every last drop, even going so far as to lave the straggling drops from the tip of Nyx’s cock once he’s finished coming. He thought he’d be at least a bit disgusted by the act, but Ignis finds it gratifying and arousing and _Gods_ , he wishes he could do it again right away.

“Astrals,” Nyx says once he’s caught his breath. He reaches down and runs a thumb along Ignis’s swollen lower lip. “You gonna let me return the favor?”

Ignis lets him. He lets Nyx push him against the shelving that’s full of practice weapons and training dummy parts. He arches his back when Nyx takes him in his mouth. He comes—quickly, that’s to be expected—and a braid composed of Nyx’s name and every swear word Ignis knows tumbles from his lips before he can stop it.

Maybe there’s hope after all.

The arrangement continues for months and progresses rapidly. Ignis can’t even look at the supply closet without a spike of lust coursing through his system. He particularly can’t look at it on the rare occasion he spars with his best friend; the combination would be as deadly as a sword through the heart.

Nyx is a far more patient teacher than Ignis would have guessed for the subjects on which Ignis requires education. Ignis has always been a quick study, though, and soon he prides himself on drawing a variety of filthy noises and words from Nyx when they liaise. The first time he hears Nyx beg, it confirms a weakness Ignis always suspected he had.

Ignis thinks that his sessions with Nyx have resolved the conflict that drove him to proposition the Glaive in the first place. For months, his thoughts are (mostly) free of Gladio. His chosen outlet seems to be working, all according to plan.

Until, of course, it doesn’t.

Ignis blames the back to back proximity of two encounters for the resurgence of his tamped down feelings. Gladio insists on sparring with Ignis on an evening he’s pre-arranged a meeting with Nyx. Ignis tries every tactic at his considerable disposal—disinterest, excuses, irritation—but Gladio doesn’t budge.

They spar. It ends with Ignis pinned to the ground, both of Gladio’s hands on his shoulders and a tempestuous look in his amber eyes. He’s pinned to the ground, he’s pinned by the gaze, his whole body _howls_ to touch the man above him, but he doesn’t. Ignis goes as far as conjuring fire to get Gladio off of him, desperate for distance, but the damage is done. Gladio frowns at him, and for a terrifying instant Ignis thinks he must know.

“Nearly burned me,” Gladio grumbles, and Ignis feels his heart slide down from his throat back down to his chest.

He meets Nyx, fucks him hard while Nyx is bent over the familiar rough wood of the table, as though the harder Ignis fucks him more thoroughly his thoughts of Gladio will be driven out of his mind.

But they aren’t. As soon as Nyx comes, Ignis plunges after him, and all he can think about as his cock pulses inside another man’s body is Gladio. The look in Gladio’s eyes as he held him to the training room floor, his sprawling, half-finished tattoos inked into flawless skin, the leather and spice scent of him.

They don’t usually talk much afterwards, but this time, Nyx speaks.

“You know,” he says, tone careful, “You probably don’t want my advice, but just in case you do… tell him.”

“Excuse me?” Ignis asks, buying time to conceal how completely Nyx has pulled the metaphorical rug out from under him. Nyx cleans himself off and starts to dress before he speaks again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a lot of fun, but I know I’m just a proxy. Whoever you’re really after… you should tell him. Never know what crazy shit could happen the way the world’s going.”

Ignis hasn’t felt so much as a glimmer of shame since engaging with Nyx, but he feels it now, thick and fetid in his gut.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Ignis says.

To his credit, he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading if you made it to the end! Comments and kudos are, as always, greatly appreciated! <3 [You can also find me on Tumblr here.](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/)


End file.
